Fine Lines
by Kortamu
Summary: Roxas hated Axel. He loathed how flamboyant and careless he was. Thirteen had often wondered why Xemnas kept Axel around, why he was tolerated. If the Flurry got hurt, he couldn't fight. Which was the only thing Roxas liked about the other male.


**Disclaimer**

**I don't own Roxas... Or Axel... T.T**

**But I do own some of the things they have done to each other!**

This is just a drabble I wrote aeons ago in school. I decided to repost it, much better this time. I love angst. ;D

**Fine Lines**

Roxas hated Axel. He despised how the redhead would taunt everyone, how he showed off, as if he actually mattered. How, every time he saw two or more of the thirteen together, he would make vulgar comments about what went on behind closed doors. The blonde loathed how flamboyant and carless Axel was. Roxas wanted to just take a bucket of water and dump it on the pyro's head. But he couldn't.

Couldn't, because as much as he hated Axel and everything he stood for in Roxas's life, he knew that if the Flurry of Dancing Flames got hurt, he couldn't fight.

Which was the only thing he liked about the other male.

Number Thirteen could sit and watch Eight spar all day long and never tire of it. He loved how the older male moved -sinuous, like a cat- and when Axel struck it was like dynamite had gone off under his opponent's skin. Roxas's gaze never ceased to fix on the corded muscles, always nigh invisible under Axel's clothes, and it surprised even him how quickly -or slowly- the spunky redhead could move in order to confuse his enemy.

Roxas adored the taunting smiles, decorated like a delicate painting with the few spatters of blood that managed to escape before the flresh cauterized and his victim screamed.

The blonde had often wondered why Xemnas kept Axel around, why he was tolerated.

The question was extensively answered by the way the man danced around his opponents in a deadly waltz only he knew the steps to. His teeth, his beautiful, white, pointed canines bared in a wicked grin of self satisfaction at the growth of the bloodthirsty beast he nurtured in his nonexistent heart. It was articulated in the fires conjured from within his soul, flames that burnt so bright as to obliterate the whole of Kingdom Hearts in their luster. The searing heat of them licked along what should be the molten metal of Axel's chakrams, mesmerizing the pyro's prey almost as effectively as his eyes.

Ah, those eyes. Roxas's own deepwater blue pools closed as he remembered the first time he'd been enraptured by those magnificent aquamarine orbs. It was as if someone had captured the color of burning copper. They stood out in his features, highlighted a bit by the charcoal black tattoos on his cheekbones. Oh, those tattoos. Roxas had no idea what Axel's Somebody had done to get them, but he was glad for it. There weren't very many ways to earn symbols like those.

The blonde's favorite thing, though, was the redhead's voice. He loved the smooth baritone, the mocking, derisive laughter saturating every word. The undertones of anger and hurt, of softness, if one could only dig deep enough. It seemed that Axel possessed the most expressive voice in all of the Organization. It was silky in tantalizing his enemy; Roxas had heard it enough to play it in his head pefrectly. He had heard it breathless after a glorioius fight, savored the rough sound of physical pain on one of the Flurry's far-and-few-between bad days. He knew the ragged, primal growl of anger and hatred well. But he most loved the soft purr that laced the man's voice when he was, for once, happy.

There was one thing he hadn't heard, though. Axel's beautiful white throat had yet to produce a scream of agony, of a sheer terror which proclaimed the shattering of the redhead's world to peices. Mmm, that would be nice. The blonde would like nothing better than to knock number Eight off his high horse. He wanted to see jagged strips of that gorgeous milky flesh pouring the life from Axel's veins; wanted to know what it was like to hear him begging Roxas to stop, that it hurt, that he could take no more. He imagined the sweet sound of the older male's voice screaming under unbearable torture. Oh, Roxas'd like to take him down a notch or two, if only to see what he looked like cracked, shredded, his indomitable will incinerated like those of all his victims.

Roxas would like that. He wondered, for a moment, if Axel had ever cried. What would those lovely aquamirine orbs look like, glistening with unspilled tears? Would the pyro have any of his famed muscle control when his carefully calm, skillfully orchestrated countenance wanted nothing more than to contort into emotional agony? Did the redhead have emotions? Probably not... but it was well worth thinking about.

Roxas hated Axel. But he was in love with how easily he made the blonde feel like he had a heart again.


End file.
